


Omega Squad

by cedi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-07-17 14:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16097984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedi/pseuds/cedi
Summary: They were the premier team of the Overwatch Initiative ever since its founding; their great skill, finesse and bravery matched by neither friend or foe. Handing them the mission was synonymous with victory and the warlords, terrorists and criminals of this world scuttled off into their holes at the bare mention of their team's call sign: Omega Squad.Though all of that changed after a single, bungled mission.Their fall from grace was brutal, the team utterly shattered by the impact on rock's bottom and the fragments were cast into the far corners of the world in the hopes that they would never reform.The members of the condemned team have wandered the world by their lonesome for years, avoiding each other's paths in fear of the terrible punishment the council of generals have promised should they ever fail to do so.But their fates are about to change as dark clouds gather on the horizon, bleak heralds of a reckoning long past due, and the world is once again in dire need of their unique skills.





	1. Chapter 1

**Location: REDACTED, Date: REDACTED, Time: 03:17**

The full moon was high up in the sky that night, nestled safely in between a myriad of tiny stars which dotted the dark blue night sky like a thousand priceless diamonds. Though the grand, silvery lantern outshone them all with the soft, ghostly glow it shed all over the black meadows far below. On its way down the argent light flowed through the gnarled branches of the few trees dotting the open fields and painted blurred facsimiles on the high grass rippling in the soft night wind. Beyond the trees it gently caressed the herds of sleeping cows, dipping their silhouettes into liquid silver, all the while not waking a single one. And far past the resting cows it touched the perfect mirror of Deepmist Lake where it came together as a portrait of its progenitor.

Sadly, no one was awake in the nearby village situated between the still lake and the abrupt rise of a tall mountain to witness this spectacular display. The hardworking folk of Deepmist Village had all crawled into their beds together with the sun, tired after a long day’s work tending to cattle and maintaining their quaint homes. Only the ancient mayor of this old town in the middle of nowhere had steadfastly remained awake past nightfall. In fact the lambent, golden light of his old oil lamp had drowned out Luna’s soft glow until near midnight; the lamp's acrid smoke an intimate companion to the wrinkled, old man sitting in his overstuffed armchair.

He had been busy writing the villages chronicle with his father’s gold-plated, black fountain pen; just like he had done every week for seventy years. Though recently it had become more difficult as his hand had grown unsteady and prone to cramps and his eyesight had worsened beyond what his thick lenses could correct. Still he didn’t let that dissuade him as it hadn’t his father before him.

With a flourish he had written the number 92 into the last line of this week’s entry, the same as the last twenty or so times. It was the number of hearty people living in his lonely village, a number which had, to his dismay, plummeted to almost nil in the span of his lifetime. Then the ancient mayor blew out the happily dancing flame of his antique cast iron lamp and went to bed to dream of better times when the cheerful laughter of children echoed down the street and the number of residents had been well above a hundred. Unbeknown to him this time had already returned as the number penned in his ledger was a lie. 

A very inaccurate lie in fact. Then there lived and worked a far, far greater number of people than that within five miles of his house, they just never stepped out of their burrow deep below the village to greet their long time neighbours.

Unlike the picturesque village the far reaching warren below the ground was never truly at rest, and if it ever where to be so then the world would be in the most dire of straits. Then the men and women absentmindedly padding through the cold, neon lit passages were some of humanity’s finest guardians and keepers of the peace. These devoted soldiers living in this inhospitable place at the edge of civilisation had led the world back from the brink far to many times and far too many of them had paid the ultimate price for this feat, their heroic sacrifice forever hidden from the innocent eyes of Earth’s people. And even so, there had never been a lack of brave souls willing to take on the bloody mantel of their fallen comrades; just like there had never been a lack of adversaries for them to fight.

One such brave soul was currently sitting in the heart of this cardiovascular system built from concrete and neo-steel. A heart that was for once cloaked in near perfect darkness interrupted only by the soft, blue glow of an enormous screen at the head of the room. The soft light that spilled from the gigantic display didn’t even reach the halfway point of the large, rotund room before it was smothered in inky darkness. Though it was enough to let a clever observer take a guess at its true size and purpose as not only the heart of the operation but also its brain, should said observer correctly decipher the blocky, shadowy forms scattered around the room.

Though even the most casual observer would remark on the last form bathed in the screen’s soft, neon blue shine. The man, and he was sure to be one as no woman had such broad shoulders, was sitting right in front of the humongous screen, staring tiredly at his rough hand. Although sitting wasn’t exactly the correct word as the blue tinted form of the man was so far bent over that he was barely distinguishable from a sack of flour someone had propped crookedly against the backrest of the office chair. The man’s head was supported by his right hand with his palm clasped against his forehead as if he were in pain, which in a way he was, just not in the physical sense.

No, the soldier wasn’t tormented by phantom pains plaguing injuries from battles long past, nor from anything fresher of the sort; instead he suffered from terminal frustration. They had spent all day planning an important mission somewhere deep in the heartland of the Arabian peninsula and it had taken a formal order for him to get the planning staff of his back so he could go to his utilitarian chambers and rest. But even long after he had retired to his bedroom the busy analysts, bless their hard working minds, had stormed his office and beleaguered his staff sergeant with incessant requests for his immediate presence because of some minor detail they had missed earlier; thus he had barely managed to sleep an hour in total till this last interruption that had finally pulled him from his attempts at sleep. An interruption that would keep him awake all night if the feeling in his weary bones could be trusted.

Just then the evenly distributed powerful speakers came to life with a soft chime and the former soft glow of the screen increased by a threefold, heralding the expected video call’s start. 

With a tired sigh the general lifted his head of his splayed hand, the bright white light crawling slowly down his face, bringing the jagged lines on his brow into deep contrast. The sudden onset of bright light blinded the stout man somewhat, forcing him to squint his green eyes for a moment in an attempt to accustom them to the new situation. It took longer than he liked, longer than it would have taken him in his youth.

After a few moments his eyes stopped tearing up and he was finally able to watch the dark silhouette drawn against the bright background of the screen. 

He harrumphed in disgust. 

It was one of THAT crowd. 

The caller’s avatar could scarcely be called human as it was just a tall black splotch with a pair of ever changing glowing eyes, how theatrical. But the name displayed below the awful avatar was even worse in the general’s humble opinion, it read: “Death’s Agent” in a bold, red lettered script.

The general had handled people like that before and without exception every last one of them had been a whiny-ass fucker. Career politicians that fancied themselves secret agents starring in their own live action-thriller but had never so much as swung a fist at another man's face in honest anger. That alone wouldn't put them on the general’s shit list per se, as even their kind was needed occasionally, if it weren’t for their habit of wanting everything to happen exactly in the way they imagined it, no matter the cost for his people. 

And behaviour like that would put even his old battle buddies on that list. Luckily they had more sense than that, even the ones that went into politics.

Sadly, the stranger on the screen didn’t, which became immediately apparent once he decided to open his shadowy mug.

“Evening, General.”

The general bobbed his head as if in answer to the greeting, but in truth the nod wasn’t a sign of respect, instead it was an attempt to cloak his face in the deep shadows stalking the edges of the room in hopes that the cameras wouldn’t pick up on his pained smile. The voice coming from the speaker had been so theatrically gravely that the seasoned soldier hadn’t been completely successful at keeping his normally stoic expression in place. But damn had the voice been deep and rough! It had sounded more like two stones rubbing against each other than like any noise human vocal cords should be able to form.

Although the sounds had probably originated in the metal innards of a voice distorter instead of the man’s throat, in fact, the general mused, the douchebag on the other side had probably spent hours to get it just so.

The old warrior shook his head slightly to derail the silly train of thought and raised his face back towards the smooth white glow, his stony composure back in place on his weathered face.

“Agent?”

The other guy seemed displeased by the meagre response as he spent a few of the general’s precious ‘could be sleep time’ moments to cross his arms in front of his chest before he continued the conversation; which was a bit daft of him in the general’s opinion as the move lost all of its intended effect considering the depth lacking nature of the guy’s avatar. He let out another tiny, inaudible sigh.

“General,” the figure finally begun after a felt eternity, “I need your best team for an upcoming mission.”

So that was why he missed another part of the precious little sleep he might get this night, because little mister important couldn’t put in a request for a team with his office like all the others, oh no that was unthinkable for such an important man as Death’s Agent! He wasn’t some stinking plebeian, he had to go directly to the top with his demands. 

The general could have screamed at the lousy, pompous, self-important ass, but instead he just opted to grind his teeth. He hadn’t come this far by brainlessly insulting his superiors, even if they deserved it.

“Alpha Squad is currently on standby and can go into action at any point on the globe in less than eight hours. Though I’d advise you to post your mission request through the official channels by way of my office, otherwise I cannot guarantee that we will be able to do anything about your proposed mission.”

The shadowy figure on the screen let out a disparaging chuckle that sounded faintly like a small stone tower coming crashing down. A sound that was magnified by the meany speaker distributed in the rotund, dark room, creating an eerie echo that grated on the old man’s already frayed nerves. 

Luckily the chuckling petered out moments before his raw nerves did, which prompted one of his rare moments of spirituality in form of a quick thank you prayer to some unseen deity listening in and having mercy on him. Though he’d be even more thankful if that deity had instead opted to shut the fucker up for good, maybe by causing a country wide powersurge or some other divine form of punishment.

Sadly neither happened before the caller had another chance to speak.

“I would have done so if your best team could be found on the roster you publish to us!”

Surprised the general’s gaze jumped up to meet the glowing eyes of speaker’s avatar, which didn’t really help him find out if the caller had spoken the truth or not.

Maybe they had requested downtime? The general guessed, scratching his chin, instantly annoyed by the scrubby fuzz he found there. He hadn’t had a chance to shave since the early mornings because of that one endless meeting, and neither had he found the time to check the rosters.

Maybe he had also missed a memo informing him of Alpha Squad’s requested timeout from the normal rotation?

He wiped out his specialised military smart phone and checked the roster, which was identical to the one he had seen in the morning, with Alpha Squad at the top of the list of available teams. Irritated the general flashed the screen of the device towards one of the cameras embedded in the large display and said gruffly, “Here! Alpha Squad is right at the top of the list,” he pressed an angry thumb against their insignia to switch views, “and as you can see they have the best stats of all the teams.”

The ominous figure on the screen shook his head and chuckled quietly.

“Yes, they have the best success rate of all the listed teams,” the stranger admitted putting a heavy emphasis on ‘listed’, “but they don’t include the truly best team, the team that only failed a single mission ever.”

“Oh, hell no!” The old soldier uttered under his breath and fell heavily against the backrest of his office chair, hiding the sturdy phone in the folds of his crinkled uniform; he already knew what was coming next and he wasn’t going to like it one bit.

“I want the best team that ever worked for the Overwatch Initiative, I want Omega Squad.”

The general leaned forwards, bracing his left arm against the cold, metal table in front of him and sighed heavily with a well practised, apologetic look firmly in place on his face.

“I’m sorry,” The general said, his voice full of regret; though he didn’t even feel the tiniest sliver of it, “but that won’t be possible as that squad’s disbandment was decided unanimously by all of Overwatch’s generals and without their approval my hands are tied...” And even if they weren’t he wouldn’t do it. The amount of damage, havoc and insubordination that team brought with them to wherever they set foot was a thing of legends, only spoken off by the common grunts in hushed voices when no officer was in sight. In fact it had been so bad that the council of generals had come up with a special procedure and rule set just for that one team and had juggled them from one base to the next like some demented game of hot potato. A faint smile appeared on his face at that thought. That had been one interesting meeting.

The soldier was startled from his reminiscing by a soft pinging noise coming from the screen’s speakers. He quickly glanced up at the dark shadow still visible on the screen, who somehow managed to look smug even though he had no facial expression, and then at the small, stylised envelope blinking happily in the corner of it; the icon’s soft golden glow giving the cheap aluminium furniture in the rotund room an appearance of brass.

The tired man leaned forward to tap the indicator, his old bones creaking in protest at the long stretch over the golden, metal surface in front of him. He ignored the fact that he could have just ordered the AI to open the message happy with the short delay this availed him, he could guess what this meant.

Once his fingers made contact with the icon the message expanded to take over the majority of the screen, forcing the avatar of the politician into one of the corners. Quickly a series of small green tick marks appeared in matching boxes at the head of the message, a visible indication of the authenticity of the missive. His eyes quickly wandered over the marks to make sure they were all there. Which they sadly where. 

Then, without any further ado the general read the short memo.

Surprisingly, the politicians in the council had, for once, left off the boilerplate and kept the message’s text to the bare minimum.

 

By order of the Council of International Security the team formerly known as Omega Squad is reinstated immediately.

 

Though, its brevity took none of the horror out of the message whatsoever. Horror that apparently only the general himself felt. 

“Fucking bull headed fools” The seasoned general cried and slammed the table with his heavy fist leaving a sizeable dent in the smooth surface, forgetting the continuous presence of the caller in his anger. 

“Would you care to repeat that?” Asked the spectre maliciously, the old man might have forgotten about his audience but the shadow sure hadn’t.

The general straighten out and quickly shook his head from side to side all the while berating himself quietly about his outburst. He should have known better than to show his anger at the order. Now that damned patsy was going to ignore all his advice just to spite him.

“No, I’d rather not. In fact let me apologise for that unbefitting display.” He apologised and quickly segued into an explanation, “But please understand that this accursed squad was broken up for good reasons.”

The black shadow tapped one of his blurry boots in an obvious display of impatience. “Which are?”

“They wreak chaos on an unimaginable scale. They have little regard for civilians and non-combatants and even less respect of international laws or boarders. They overkill and show off wherever they can and ignore the threat this puts their fellow soldiers in!” The general quickly rattled off, emboldened by the bone the other man had thrown him.. 

“And don’t even get me started on the members of the team themselves!” He added, using this tiny opening to its fullest. ”First: A pilot who thinks it’s great fun to buzz highly secret facilities of hostile nations to check out the ‘local talent’ and how they hold up in a ‘friendly little dogfight between friends’. Next you have a psychopath who killed her husband in their bed, after fucking him mind you, and then bleached her skin all over because: ‘she couldn’t get the blood off’. Then there is that Nazi experiment that somehow managed to survive till today even though he served in pretty much every army on the planet. Only to be kicked out after a few months because he rearranged the innards of a fellow soldier or superior officer because of some kind of perceived slight. And let’s not forget about that little mexican hacker who makes it a habit of stealing top secret data to sell to the next best terrorist organisation, even though our high tech AI does so, repeatedly.” He took a quick moment to get his breath back and then started on the last part of his tirade.

“And finally we have their leader, a woman that gives me the heebie-jeebies the moment she steps into the room and I’m not some wet behind the ears recruit that you can intimidate easily! I’ve played chicken with terrorists armed with horrifying biological weapons, damn it! There is just something completely wrong with that woman, and I’m not the only one thinking that!“

“In fact,” he quickly dug in his pockets for his phone, “the generals have come up with a special procedure just for them long before their last, ill-fated mission that gave cause for their banishment.”

A few tabs and a quick swipe towards the screen at the head of the room had a flow chart appear on it. The plan he put on display was pretty complex as it described a number of likely scenarios and which team to pick in which case. Everything was grouped pretty tightly with only one exception to that rule, at which he now pointed.

It was the last step in the complex flow chart and simply stated: Omega Squad.

The step before that: Pray to God.

And the one before that: Have you considered a nuclear strike?

 

For a long time only the laboriously breathing of the old soldier could be heard in the dark, echoing confines of the facility’s central room. 

Then the grating voice of the caller broke the silence.

“I see.” He stated happily. “They sound absolutely perfect.”

The general slumped in his chair as the tension built by his rant left him suddenly.

“But why?” He asked, sounding defeated.

“Because, and please pardon my language general, shit needs fucking up!”


	2. Pony Express

Two hours later heavy footfalls pierced the early morning silence still reigning over the fortified Overwatch base. The echo of them seemingly hearable in even the furthest reaches of the massive warren, only the tinkling of old timey spurs that accompanied every step was swallowed by the concrete walls.

After a few more languide steps the owner of the anachronistic boots came to a halt in front of a gunmetal grey, iron door, his leather gloved hand already on the doorbell.

After a second the small display above the doorbell flashed an angry red, prompting the man to tip his Stetson back, revealing a sly grin on a handsome face to the artificial eye lurking above the door.

Within a second the light painting the starkly lit wall red switched to a happy green. At the same time the door slid to the side making a sound almost like a delighted purr in the process.

“Finally!” The general said angrily and impatiently waved his subordinate in, “what took you so long, McCree?”

“Was sleeping,” Jesse answered with a smirk, “You should try it, heard it does wonders for the complexion.” He added after seeing the general’s tired appearance.

“Sit down, McCree.” The general pointed at the seat in front of the desk, not rising to the younger man’s bait. “I’ve got a mission for you.” The general slid a small sealed package over to him, the light item moving easily over the worn-out, wooden surface, nearly tumbling to the bare concrete floor if it weren’t for Jesse’s swift reaction.

He lifted the package up to his face, scrutinizing the item closely, especially its address field.

“You know,” He slid down in his hard, military issue chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. “When I asked you for a spot on a team I wasn’t thinking of errand boy. But more something befitting my unique skill set.”

The general lifted an eyebrow in fake surprise, “Is that so?”  He asked rhetorically, “Please remind me again what those are.” His words practically dripped with derision. The general clearly wasn’t a fan of his, a sentiment he shared with a lot of the other brass around the base. Which only meant that he was pretty much used to this kind of treatment, it had lost its effect on him months ago.

“Anything gang related, really.” He answered sincerely, already preparing a quick follow up, which he, to his surprise didn’t need. Instead of making another biting remark the general just nodded with a faint smile on his face, which alarmed him more than any sneer could ever have. “So I remembered correctly,” the general said quietly, almost as if he were lost in thought. “Which makes you perfect for his job,” the general continued at his usual volume. “You see, I don’t just need you to deliver this package but also to help the recipient with her job, and to report back to me about their progress. Because you see, they have a rather awkward relationship with the truth.”

“So you need me to spy on them?” He asked surprised, “On Overwatch personnel?” He glanced at the label of the package again to verify that he hadn’t misread it, but the text hadn’t suddenly morphed into something different, it was still the address of an Overwatch Private. Which was really strange, Overwatch agents were handpicked from the best the world’s military outfits had to offer, and if there was even the tiniest doubt about your loyalty or character you didn’t get in. For the general to ask for someone to spy on his fellow soldiers was unheard. Or at least he, nor anyone he knew had ever heard of something like this.

“Yes.” The general confirmed and leaned back in his chair as if to make it perfectly clear that no further explanation was forthcoming.

“Okay,” Jesse said and tightened his grip on the parsel. Maybe this mission really was his speed. “I’ll do it.”

He was already halfway through the door when the general called him back, “One more thing, take Montgomery with you, at least for the first part. I think he could use the experience.” The general smiled happily, “Might dislodge that stick a bit.” Jesse just grimaced and made his way towards the hangar bay. This was going to be a fun one, he just knew.

* * *

 

A dozen hours later found him, and Montgomery flying somewhere above the outskirts of the Sahara in the oldest, most decrypt transport airplane Overwatch had to offer. He had made some friendly inquiries back at the hangar for why they had assigned him this rusty bucket of loose bolts and nuts which traveled at a quarter of the speed the standard Overwatch plane and had been told, just as nicely, that it was due to the clandestine nature of the operation. He was pretty sure that had been a lie, it was more likely that it had something to do with that fancy-schmancy prototype airplane and the “cigar-incident”. Though if the rough ride had been meant as a punishment for him then they had missed their target. Compared to the marvels of engineering he had flown in during his Deadlock time this plane was pure luxury, the plane engines hadn’t even stalled once so far!

Montgomery on the other hand didn’t have quite as grand of a time, the unpredictable bucking of the plane were shaking the stuffing out of him, he glanced over at the man in the next seat noting his hunched over posture and greenish tint of his skin, in a quite literal way.

“Rather lively this filly, ain’t it,” He stated as the plane abruptly dropped a good meter and jerked to the right. His only answer was a quiet groan from his left.

Luckily for his temporary partner the flight didn’t last much longer and a bare ten minutes later the old plane touched down on a barely there dirt runway somewhere in the middle of nowhere. The landing was surprisingly smooth, considering the ordeal of the past few hours which made him wonder if the pilots might have had a bit of fun on their cost. The wide smiles they had on their faces when they disembarked all but confirmed his suspicions, though he didn’t remark on it, they would have their comeuppance the second they had to clean the plane. So instead he just smiled sunnily at them and stepped out of the open door and climbed down the ladder.

The oppressive heat pounced on him the second he stepped on the dry as a bone dirt of the runway, but he shrugged it of easily enough. He had lived in Arizona for years and as long as the soles of his boots didn’t turn sticky he could deal with it. He put on his aviators, righted his stetson and walked over to the car being offloaded from the cargo plane.

The drive over to the village was short, barely worth bringing a car all this way, but he was still glad that they wouldn’t have to walk. The place might look deserted, but he knew very well that there could be a dozen african warriors lying in wait just around the next bend of the bumpy road, ready to scalp them. “Do africans scalp people?” He wondered, looking over at Montgomery, “Or am I just thinking of Indians?” Montgomery didn’t seem to know either as the man just stared awkwardly at him. _Pity._

They stopped just outside of the village as the way in was blocked by rows of what looked suspiciously like dragon’s teeth, not something he expected to see in the middle of the savanna. He slowly stepped out of the car and carefully inspected the village before him and realized that the tank-traps were far from being the only anachronism in this place. The building facades funneling him into the center of the village looked a lot like reinforced concrete someone had tried, badly, to hide with a layer of slathered on crushed sandstone. Also, there were a number of very telling grooves in the walls and the thin strip of stone road, which was also incidentally the only bit of real road in sight. The whole setup reminded him eerily of a fortress and not some desolate village out in nowhere.

“Try to be as non-threatening as possible, ay?” He told his partner who had, after a short moment, followed him out of the car.

“You think they’d bolt?” The young man asked as he stepped up to him.

“Mhm, something like that.” He said, glancing at his partner who was currently adjusting his military issue hat, oblivious to the world around him and decided not to tell him about his observations. He doubted the young soldier could look less threatening even if he tried to.

“Very well then,” Montgomery stated loudly and walked into the village, “let’s go find this Private Ziegler so we can be done with this mission.”

_Yeah, way to keep our mission confidential…_ Jesse rolled his eyes and followed the man into the killing field before him. Hoping against hope that the people around here didn’t suffer from twitchy trigger fingers.

Somehow, somewhere a deity must have heard his prayers as they made their way through to the other side of the small plaza without any hassle, though he was slightly worried that they hadn’t seen anyone so far. He felt like they should have been challenged by someone by now, another quick glance at his fearless leader revealed that the man apparently didn’t share his concern as he happily ploded away down the small dirt road between the squat stone huts.

“You think we should knock at one of these?” Said man asked as they passed the first real home. “They probably know were she is.”

“Nah, let’s not interrupt their lunch.” Jesse stated with a slight smirk pulling at his lips.

“What? You think they eat this early? It’s not even eleven o’clock, who does that!” The other soldier asked, sounding genuinely shocked by the idea. He just sighed at the guy’s antics and walked past him and around the next corner, leading the way towards the sound he had heard in between the innate blathering of that idiot.

A few steps later he caught the sound again and this time he was able to recognize it for the music it was. He tilted his head curiously, listening to the faint, oddly familiar melody, wondering where he had heard it before. He started walking again when it hit him: _Oktoberfest!_ That was were he had heard this kind of music before.

“Is… Is that folk music?” Montgomery asked, finally having noticed the music himself. “Here, in Africa?”

“Apparently,” Jesse agreed, finding himself on the same page as his partner for the first time on this mission.

A few moments later the pair stepped out from a small alley between two of the low houses and set their eyes on a very strange sight. Before them stood the only two story building they had seen around here, though this was far from the strangest thing about it. First, it appeared to be built from wood instead of the beige sandstone they used for all other houses. Second, it apparently stood on wooden stilts with a solid rock foundation bellow it. And third, it flew the Swiss flag from a mast next to a lounger standing in the shade of a large parasol. The white sunlounger was occupied by a very clearly caucasian woman with blonde hair, who was calmly reading a book while occasionally taking a quick pull from the glass standing on a wooden footstool next to her.

He had barely had time to take this all in when his colleague was already stomping over there, his usually slack face twisted into a mad grimace. “Are you private Ziegler,” The irate soldier wanted to know from the mid-twenty woman casually leafing through her book. His venomous words finally getting her attention. She lifted her head and stared at him from above the sunglasses perched on her nose.

“Who wants to know?” She asked after a second, her voice ringing clear above the quiet music in the background.

“Lieutenant Frank Montgomery, Overwatch.” The soldier stated loudly, dropping into sharp parade attention. The strange woman lifted one eyebrow at that and focused on Jesse after a second, who had used the time to walk up to the woman.

“Don’t mind him.” He said, pointing at his partner. “Hasn’t been out here much. I’m Jesse,” He offered his hand to the reclining woman who answered it with a surprisingly strong grip of her own. “Angela,” She said, with a faint smile. “Do you want a drink?” She pointed at the covered pitcher on the ground next to her. “I’m calling it Scorched Earth. It’s surprisingly good considering they brew it from some kind of plant sap, or at least I think it is sap, never thought to ask.”

He just nodded and accepted the glass with a thankful smile, but before he could take a first, tentative sip from the strongly smelling concoction Montgomery started screeching once more. “Is that alcohol? We are on **duty**!” Jesse ignored the young man chucking around his rulebook and instead opted for a large than usual gulp from his drink, which he nearly came to regret moments later as the viscous stuff burned his throat. “Good stuff,” He managed to croak through a serie of barely suppressed coughs.

“Right?” Angela exclaimed happily, eyeing her own glass next to her. Though after a second she looked back up at him with eyes that had lost some of the hardness they had displayed before. “It’s good to see that Overwatch still has some decent soldiers.”

“Are you listening to me?!” Frank cried over their quiet conversation in an attempt to get their attention. Angela continued ignoring the irate soldier and instead directed her next question at Jesse, “So what brings you here? I doubt it’s just for sightseeing.”

Jesse nodded and pulled the package from under his combat jacket and handed it down to the still reclining young woman, which took it with a muttered thanks. A second later both of her neatly groomed eyebrows made an appearance above the rim of her dark sunglasses. “Didn’t expect to see this for another year or two.” She muttered to herself. “I guess I better get ready then.” She added after twirling the package in her fingers, lost in her thoughts. She suddenly rose from the lounger and stepped towards the dark entryway of the wooden house. She took a quick glance back at him and winked, her lips drawn into a tiny smile, “Be right back.” She looked at Montgomery who was now standing in the shade of the parasol looking to all the world like a petulant child ready to stomp the ground, “And you, calm down and take a drink.” Then she vanished into the small house, the quiet music turning off a second later.

“How… How dare she!?” Frank shouted, voice turned hoarse by his burning rage. “I’m her superior! I’ll have her written up.”

“I doubt she cares,” Jesse stated calmly and took another sip from his god awful drink. But his words only enraged his partner even further.

“Doesn’t care...” He spit out venomously, “Doesn’t care! She is an Overwatch soldier! How dare she bring shame on this honorable institution with this insubordination.” Jesse sighed and tuned out of the Lieutenant’s anger tantrum, people like him were why he didn’t join the US armed forces in the first place.

“...I will teach her! Who does she think she is! ...” Jesse tuned back in when the mad rant suddenly trailed off a bare thirty seconds later. He looked at him, then followed his flummoxed glare to the empty doorway of the house. Just, the doorway wasn’t empty any longer, Angela had returned completely fitted out in her tactical gear. _It had been barely half a minute, how did she change that fast?_ Jesse wondered. Though he didn’t have the time to make a theory or two about it as Montgomery had recovered from his surprise by then. The man stormed over to Angela an grabbed her by her harness, pulling at it and screaming at her. “On the ground! I want to see a hundred pushups, and make them neat! Or else!” _Really?_ Jesse sighed inwardly and rubbed his forehead with his gloved hand, which left him entirely unprepared to follow the rapid series of events that followed next. All he knew was that his partner was laying on the ground squirming in pain and Angela towering over him looking no worse for wear. “Attacking a superior officer is a punishable offence.” She stated in a prim voice and stepped over the downed Lieutenant. She pulled the still sealed parcel from the pocket she had crammed it in, ripped it open and upended it into her open hand. Out tumbled captain’s insignia and shoulder badges in the shape of a Caduceus Staff with an impaled skull at the top of it instead of the usual sphere. She donned them quickly and stepped up to him a wild grin on her face. “It’s good to be back!” She stated, her smile widening. She took a hold of her glass and downed the rest of its contents in one. “Drink up! We have a long trip ahead of us.” She said encouragingly after she had regained her breath.

“What about him?” Jesse asked, nodding in the direction of the soldier still gasping on the ground, more as a way to stall for time then genuine worry.

“Leave him, he’ll get back to base… Eventually.” She started down the road towards the village’s main gate. “And please make sure to include this little incident in your unofficial report to the good general. Wouldn’t want him to get only part of the picture.” She added with a teasing grin on her face just visible over her shoulder. “Sure, will do!” He shot her a grin of his own and downed the rest of his drink, this time without breaking out into a coughing fit.

“So where are we going?” He called after her as he put his glass down on the wooden stool and started after her.

“Korea.” Angela called back, “It’s time to assemble my team.”


End file.
